Hippie living in Mexico

Tulum's beaches

Roughly 65 million years ago, a vast, dinosaur-killing
asteroid hit this part of Mexico. There is something about Tulum
that remains a little stellar. New agers come here to tune in, the
fashion crowd comes to space out. Melinda Stevens enters its
orbit.

This is a beach, a great beach, by any standard. The sea
is a turquoise rough and tumble, the sand thick as mashed potato.
The sun rises, just so, in front of it (impossible to walk the
length of, a Yellow Brick Road of infinite distance) like an actor
appearing through a trap door. Dawn has arrived, and the audience
is ready and waiting and smiling. A sun salutation. A downward dog.
A jogger or five. A man with a bongo. A girl with a guitar. There
are guys with mangoes and papayas to sell, and ladies with warm
pancakes and Nutella wrapped in tin foil to keep them warm. A naked
man cartwheels down the shoreline like a spider and leaps into the
sea. A little girl, brown as sugar, with a glittering bindi on her
forehead, stretches out her arms to her smiling mama. A hullabaloo
as a man shimmies up a coconut tree, and pulls on the branches
until the coconuts fallplop, plop, plopin the sand. Everyone claps and hoots. And the light
glitters, and everything is bright and beautiful.